


The Mighty Fall

by faikitty



Category: Karneval
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Heartbreak, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2520428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfortunately, real life doesn’t follow the same laws as fairytales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mighty Fall

When Hirato first gets sick, Akari doesn’t think much of it.

It isn’t unheard of for him to come down with a cold every once in awhile; after all, everyone does at times. When he comes to Akari’s office after hours, Akari is hardly surprised. He is, however, a tad concerned when he sees Hirato flinch at the bright light of the room. He switches immediately into diagnosis mode, rising from his chair to examine Hirato more closely.

“It’s just a headache,” Hirato says with a smile at Akari’s flitting around him. “I need some pain pills; that’s all.” He catches Akari’s chin and pulls him in for a brief kiss.

The doctor pushes away quickly and tilts his head. “You’re rather hot for only having a headache. Sit down; I’m taking your temperature,” he orders, and Hirato does as he’s told. Akari sticks a thermometer in the captain’s mouth and sits in front of him. “Be good,” he adds as Hirato starts to lean forward to take hold of the doctor’s tie. “If you’re getting sick, keep your hands to yourself.”

Hirato raises his hands in defense and grins, thermometer sticking out from between his teeth. A few long moments later, Akari removes it, his brow furrowing at the readings. “Well, doctor? Am I dying?” Hirato asks teasingly, and Akari shakes his head.

“Your temperature is high—not alarmingly so, but I want you to keep a close eye on it and let me know if it goes up any higher. How long as it been like this?”

“Since this morning. I woke up with a crick in my neck and this headache, and I suppose the fever followed.” Hirato shrugs.

Akari frowns and retrieves a bottle of medicine from the cabinet. “Take this twice a day with meals then. It’s most likely the flu, and you should be strong enough to fight that off. But if anything changes, tell me.”

Hirato stands and nods his thanks to the doctor. “Of course.” He doesn’t try for another kiss, apparently deciding that the possibility of Akari catching the flu from him outweighs the pleasure of his lips. Akari watches him leave, gaze far fonder than he would ever show the other man.

* * *

It isn’t until two days later that Akari realizes how wrong he was.

Opening the door to his bedroom, a body falls back at his feet, and the doctor jumps back, startled. In a shiver that runs down his spine, he realizes the body belongs to Hirato, and Akari quickly kneels and listens for breathing and a heartbeat. Upon hearing both perfectly steady, albeit a bit quick, he taps impatiently against Hirato’s face until his eyes open blearily. “What the hell are you doing?” the blond asks, and Hirato blinks confusedly at him.

“I…” Hirato sits up and shakes his head. “My head hurts,” he mutters, as if that explains everything. Akari, one hand still resting against Hirato’s skin, pulls away in concern at the amount of heat radiating from his lover. He helps Hirato stand and guides him to the bed, where the dark haired man collapses, shivering slightly. Akari tugs the covers over him, and the captain sinks down into the sheets with a content sigh. “Thank you.”

“No… problem…” Akari replies absentmindedly, pacing back and forth as he tries to figure out what sort of flu would make Hirato like this. He freezes suddenly and makes a few marks in the air with his finger.

Not the flu. Meningitis.

Akari turns slowly and faces the man lying in his bed. “I thought I told you to let me know if you started to feel worse,” he says, voice dangerously quiet.

Hirato lifts his head slightly from the pillow at the ominous tone, his eyes a bit clearer now. “I’m used to recovering on my own. I’m taking the medicine you gave me.” Hirato casts a confused glance at the doctor. “I’m not sure what more you want from me.”

“What I  _want_  is for you to tell me when you’re sick. You have meningitis, Hirato. We can treat it, but if you hadn’t passed out at my door, I might not have realized that was what was wrong, and if it had gone on much longer, you could have died.” It’s idiotic to quarrel with Hirato while he’s sick, but it’s angry relief that spurs Akari’s words, and Hirato could  _never_ understand the gravity of such a situation.

Hirato’s eyes focus on Akari’s, and he pushes himself farther up in bed. “I believe you were the one who told me it was the flu, so I don’t think any of the fault lies with me,” he replies, a vaguely challenging ring to his voice.

“The fault lies with you because you were  _supposed to tell me_  if you felt worse, and you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you made an incorrect diagnosis.”

“If you died—“

“Had I died, it would have been your fault.”

“I— You are the most  _self-centered_ — I honestly doubt you would even  _care_  if you died.” Despite his growing irritation, Akari notes how odd it is that Hirato is getting so flustered by this. His breathing is visibly faster, and his face flushed with anger at such an accusation.

“I would care if  _you_  died. My own health is not something I am terribly concerned about, however. It isn’t as if you would be terribly upset by my death either,” Hirato throws back, voice shaky.

“Hah, no, I wouldn’t care at all,” Akari scoffs, closing his eyes for a breath. When he reopens them, he sees Hirato leaning back with his head at an awkward position against the headboard, eyes closed and breathing heavy. Akari’s eyes widen slightly, and the gears click together in his brain. It wasn’t anger that colored Hirato’s face, it was—it  _is_ —sickness, and his uneven breathing is just further proof. Akari hits the button on his phone to summon subordinates, and he can feel fear settle ice cold into his veins.

_Shit._

* * *

It  _will_  be his fault if Hirato dies; of this, he is positive.

Akari stands at the head of Hirato’s hospital bed, adjusting an IV that doesn’t really need fixing. He isn’t able to be with the unconscious man nearly as much as he would like. He isn’t able to take a break from his busy life to care for Hirato, and besides, at this point, he doesn’t need much care. It’s simply a matter of monitoring his vitals to make sure nothing changes for the worse and praying that they change for the better. No longer a case of mere meningitis, it is sepsis now, severe enough for Hirato to fall unconscious. Now, his blood is fighting a battle against itself, and although the doctors are all doing their best to make sure he improves, so far they have only managed to prolong the inevitable.

If Akari could, he would stay by his lover’s side until he awakes, but, he admits with a resigned glance at Hirato’s still form, he can’t.

As he turns to leave, he hears a sound that sends dread coursing through him. Alarms beep, indicating heart failure, and Akari is the first to make it back to his side and begin CPR. He has done this sort of thing so many times it is second nature to him by now, but to be pressing the flat of his palm into Hirato’s chest over and over like this and to feel the ribs crack beneath his skin as he does so… It isn’t something he enjoys at all.

Regardless, it works, and the up and down line of a heartbeat reappears on the machine. Akari sighs deeply and leans against the wall with his eyes closed. “What the fuck am I supposed to do if you stay like this?” he asks under his breath.

“I’m sorry. Is this a bad time then?”

Akari opens his eyes to see Tokitatsu standing a few feet away with a vaguely amused expression. “Sorry,” the doctor mutters.

“Don’t worry about it. I’d like to cuss him out myself,” Tokitatsu admits, eyes darkening as he watches the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest. “Hirato needs surgery. I just spoke with your teacher. I’m not trained in medicine, so I don’t know the specifics, but he said something about dead tissue and heart.” Akari opens his mouth to speak, but Tokitatsu lifts his hand to silence him. “You’re the one who’s going to do it.”

“You understand I am largely responsible for his current state,” Akari reminds the other man. “Had I caught his illness sooner, he would never have entered septic shock.”

“You’re the best physician we have, Akari. I won’t let anyone else operate on him,” Tokitatsu responds firmly. He leans over and brushes a strand of hair from in front of his brother’s closed eyes, and Akari is struck by how, despite their often tense relationship, the pair does care for one another.

“…fine.”

* * *

It doesn’t take long for the surgery to go wrong.

At first, it is completely fine. Everything is going smoothly. Hirato’s pulse is steady, his temperature lowering, his heartbeat even.

Not even one second after Akari thinks that maybe, just  _maybe_ Hirato can survive this, the beeping of the monitor slows then flatlines.

The next few seconds are a blur of shouts and quick motions as Akari grabs the defibrillator and begins the first of many attempts to restart his patient’s heart.

“Clear!”

Akari can see out of the corner of his eye someone dialing for backup.

“Clear!”

He sees an incision made between Hirato’s ribs and blood begin to flow through an inserted tube.

“Clear!”

He sees Hirato’s eyes open—or was that just a trick of the light?

“Clear!”

He sees the body lift up with the force of electricity and slam back down, no signs of life remaining, but he won’t give up, he can’t give up, he has to—

“Doctor, he’s gone!”

The worried voice of a nurse reaches his ears, but it does nothing to stop him. Press together, yell clear, shove against the pale and motionless chest of the man lying dead on his operating table and pray that the shock is enough to reset the fluttering of his heart.

It isn’t.

“C-clear,” Akari commands one last time, his voice little more than a whisper, and he barely presses the pads against Hirato’s chest with enough force to give any shock. He gazes immobile at the cold, prone form of his lover feeling oddly numb. Then his vision begins to blur, and his hand knocks metal medical tools from the table, scattering them across the floor. Strong arms grab his waist and pull him away. Akari struggles against the grip, twisting with his eyes desperately glued on the body he still has yet to accept is devoid of life.

“Stop, Akari,” a low voice—Tokitatsu?—intones. “Calm down. He’s gone. He’s dead.” The arms around the doctor tighten slightly at the last word, and  _ah, they are brothers, aren’t they_ …

Akari stills after a few more seconds of fighting, his limbs going weak, and Tokitatsu releases him slowly. Akari is vaguely aware of the other man ushering the remainders of the medical team out the door. The physician approaches Hirato slowly and crouches next to him so he is at eye level with the body. “You can’t die on me, you bastard…” Akari murmurs, a hint of incredulousness making his voice raise. “There’s too much left unsaid.”

Hirato, needless to say, doesn’t respond.

If this were a fairytale, Hirato would open his eyes, wipe away sparkling crystal tears from his lover’s face, and assure him that he isn’t going anywhere, not in a million years.  Akari would apologize, swear he meant nothing he said in anger, and Hirato would tell him no apologies are needed because he was never hurt by the words. He would smile, and his cheeks would glow and his lips would be warm when Akari kisses them.

It doesn’t happen.

Of course, it doesn’t happen. This isn’t a fairytale, and the dead can’t be returned to life. A doctor, someone who has been surrounded by death for  _years_ , should know that by now.

Instead, he feels only the memory of Hirato’s rough palm on his cheek, catching tears that have yet to fall. The captain’s skin is ashen, his gray lips slightly parted, but with his closed eyes he almost looks as if he is only sleeping.

“I’m sorry…” That much Akari can still make happen, even if Hirato is no longer able to hear him. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes close, and he rests his head against the cold metal embrace of the table with a sigh that is exhaled from his very bones.

* * *

It would have been easier, Akari decides, if Hirato had died in battle.

Perhaps it makes him a terrible person to think that way. But at least if it had happened like that, he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty as he watches the faces around him.

For all that Hirato did his best to make himself disliked by people, there are an awful lot tears being shed as the captain’s casket is carried, Circus banner lying over the top, toward the spot where he is to be buried. It isn’t something Akari wants to watch, the decorated Circus soldiers carrying the heavy casket with his lover’s body in it to set it in the ground, but the alternative is to bear witness to the heartbreak of those who were under Hirato’s command.

Yogi, for all of his usual childish behavior, stands straight and tall, silent tears running down his cheeks in thin rivulets. Tsukumo, standing near him, trembles as she visibly fights back the urge to cry. Nai holds onto her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. His face has a look of confusion and concern, and he turns back to Gareki, who stands, face passive, behind the group with one hand on Tsukumo’s shaking shoulder. Akari can hear the niji’s small voice ask quietly why Hirato is in the black box and if this is some strange new game of hide-and-seek, and that’s when the doctor turns away.

Akari watches Tsukitachi instead, leading the casket carries to the grave. His face is a mask of apathy that can only be achieved with a great deal of practice. He steps around the pit and joins Akari in standing with the Circus higher ups, an uncommonly many of who are at the funeral to—Akari assumes—honor one of their strongest fighters. Tsukitachi doesn’t change his expression when he catches the physician’s eye, but he gives the slightest of nods.

It feels like an eternity as the casket is lowered into the ground, and the finality of it all is almost too much to bear. Akari sprinkles a handful of dirt over it, as do the rest of the people standing around him. The ceremony seems to end too quickly after that. Everybody scatters little by little, including Akari. He doesn’t want to return to the halls of the Research Tower just yet, so he stands beneath a tree some distance away from the grave, watching the flowers placed on the fresh patch of dirt sway in the wind.

Tsukitachi joins him quietly, some sort of alcohol in hand, and Akari won’t question where it came from. “Doesn’t feel real,” the captain admits, taking a swig of his drink. He plops down at the foot of the tree with a sigh and leans his back against it. “I always kind of thought I’d go before him.” He glances at Akari from the corner of his eye. “You really ought to cry, you know. You’ll make yourself sick otherwise.”

Akari frowns at him. “You’re one to talk,” he says in response to the captain’s perfectly dry face.

“I rarely take my own advice.”

A few moments pass in silence before Akari speaks again. “I can’t help but feel as if I could have saved him if I’d only noticed earlier.”

“Are you trying to get me to punch you?” Tsukitachi asks irritably. Akari opens his mouth, brows knit together angrily, to reply, but the red head keeps talking. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear you blame yourself. Self-pity isn’t a good look on you.” The redhead sighs and takes another deep gulp of his drink. “He was my friend too.”

The look Akari gives Tsukitachi could kill. “He was more than my friend,” he replies coolly.

“I know” is Tsukitachi’s only response. “…you aren’t allowed to resign. Tokitatsu told me to tell you that.”

“I don’t intend to. There’s nowhere else for me to go anyway.”

Tsukitachi rises with a stretch and gives the doctor a lopsided smile. “I didn’t think you did. I’m just passing along the message.” He heads away, presumably to get more alcohol for his now empty flask. He doesn’t look at the place where Hirato lies buried as he leaves, and the doctor doesn’t think he’ll be coming back tonight.

Hirato is alone now, his grave standing bare with no people around it, and Akari reluctantly returns to it.

Even though Hirato can no longer hear him, some things still need to be said.

“I’m sorry,” Akari begins once more, a hand resting lightly on the stone slab. “I’m sorry. I would care if you did—that you are—that you died. It’s my fault.” His voice is shaky, he knows, but he doesn’t feel the need to steady it. “You really are self-centered though. Going off and dying, leaving me here… It isn’t fair. …God. You would tease me relentlessly for acting like this, wouldn’t you?” Akari laughs bitterly then quiets. “I wish there were a better way to apologize to someone who’s already gone. I wish I could tell you goodbye properly. I wish I didn’t  _need_  to.” He runs his hand over his eyes, pretending not to feel the damned tears that he can’t seem to  _stop_  now. “I wish a lot of things. I’ll miss you.” Akari turns his back on the grave.

“Goodbye, Hirato.”

**Author's Note:**

> From my own experience, it's far sadder to have to watch someone die slowly and know there's nothing you can do about it than it is to have someone die unexpectedly, particularly if that person is a soldier. Risking death every day only to be brought down by one's own body is more heartbreaking.


End file.
